


Truly Loyal

by Ashii Black (ashiiblack), Icicle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Angst, Azkaban, Bargaining, Blow Jobs, Death Eaters, Dementors, Drunk Sex, Fighting, First War with Voldemort, Infidelity, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Pre-Canon, Prison, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Snogging, Wartime AU, pureblood ideals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 06:10:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashiiblack/pseuds/Ashii%20Black, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icicle/pseuds/Icicle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucius sits in his cell in Azkaban.  A compromise could free him from his prison.  His memories may consume him first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truly Loyal

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the LuciusBigBang challenge on live journal and was originally posted there.

**Title:** Truly Loyal  
**Authors:** [](http://ashiiblack.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**ashiiblack**](http://ashiiblack.dreamwidth.org/) and [](http://icicle33.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**icicle33**](http://icicle33.dreamwidth.org/)  
**Beta:** [](http://freakingcrups.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**freakingcrups**](http://freakingcrups.dreamwidth.org/)  
**Cheerleader:** [](http://feuerfunke.dreamwidth.org/profile)**feuerfunke**  
**Genre:** Slash, Angst, Drama  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Warnings:** Wartime AU, time jumping between events of the summer of 1996 and 1976-77, m/m sex, adult language  
**Pairing:** Lucius/James, mentions of James/Lily and Lucius/Narcissa  
**Characters:** Lucius, James, Severus, Abraxas, Dumbledore, Fudge  
**Word Count:** 17,659  
**Summary:** Lucius sits in his cell in Azkaban. A compromise could free him from his prison. His memories may consume him first.  
**A/N:** A special thank you to our beta and cheerleader, who were both extremely helpful in getting the ideas for this fic and encouraging us when we were feeling low. Thanks to the mods, who were extremely patient with our writer’s block and us! We hope you enjoy the read!

 

* * *

 

 

**Part 1: Demons**

 

 

 _“The path to paradise begins in hell.”_  
― Dante Alighieri

 

 

 

*******

 

 _Candlelight flickers through the endless corridor; the air is thick with green smoke. Lucius sneaks a glance toward the sponsors._ _When he’s certain that no one is watching, he discreetly pulls the bottom of his hood up and covers his mouth. Green smoke is not a natural occurrence; it’s indicative of Dark magic, the darkest form of sorcery, involving the invocation of demons and the harboring of their powers._

 _Lucius is not against this, not in the least. He does not fear the Dark or even the possible repercussions on his soul. Power is power—what he does fear, however, is the damaging of his precious lungs. The green smoke burns his throat, and he will not destroy his precious Malfoy cilia for anyone, not even the Dark Lord. Even his father cannot expect this of him._  
  
_Two heads in front of him, Goyle appears to be hacking up a lung. He refuses to suffer the same fate. Isn’t he already giving up enough?_  
  
_The green smoke appears to be thickening, and Lucius tucks his nose into the collar of his robe as well. He’s certain that he looks ridiculous, but he cannot bring himself to care. Careful not to trip on the untucked tails of McNair’s robe in front of him, he continues walking, slowly, somberly, toward the dark. His goal. His destiny._  
  
_Three._  
  
_There are only three hooded figures left in front of him out of what seemed like an endless queue just moments earlier. He is starting to panic. His breath catches and pulse races; cold sweat drips down his neck and he can feel his chest tightening again. The hood is no longer a barrier from the smoke; his lungs are burning from the green fumes almost as if it were a toxin, a silent killer poisoning his soul._  
  
_He’s having second thoughts again, regretting his last minute decision to become one of them. Lucius has never been a team player. He does not play nicely with others. But the Dark Lord does not offer second chances. It’s too late; he cannot back down from this and expect to leave the Dark Lord’s service with his life. Or can he?_  
  
_The Dark Lord has his hands full at the moment. Harboring demon energy and splitting souls is tricky business. Lucius is fast; he knows he is, and that twat of a sponsor of his, McNair, would never be able to catch him. Perhaps if he slips out right now, he can make a run for it, escape with minimal damage, and then go on the run somewhere._  
  
_He breaks the steady pace of the procession and momentarily contemplates running. He turns on his ankle and tries to find the guts to run, but then he locks eyes with Severus, several spots behind him. Severus gives him a sharp nod of the head and a shy smile._  
  
_Severus. Right. He returns the smile and takes his place back in line. That’s why he’s doing this. Severus. His father. For a moment, he almost forgot. If Severus Snape can do this, take the Mark and not run away like a sniveling coward, then Lucius can do this too. Perhaps it can help him forget._  
  
_An agonizing scream pierces his ears and snaps him out of his thoughts._  
  
_“Please…please…My Lord….My Lord,” a broken voice in the distance cries. “No more. No more.”_  
  
_Lucius gulps; his throat runs dry and any composure he had regained is lost. The pain from the Mark appears to be worse than he imagined. Much worse. He knew that receiving the Mark would be less than pleasant, arduous even, but he never imagined that it would break the soul of a man._

 _Rodolphus Lestrange. Those cries belong to Lestrange. He’s one of the surliest blokes that Lucius has ever met. The man never has any expression on his face, no matter the circumstance. He didn’t even bat an eyelash when he found out his sister was dead, murdered in her own home. Not even a grimace when he got knocked off his broom during a Quidditch match and broke both arms._  
  
_Yet, somehow the Dark Lord has managed to dismantle his strong spirit, his pride. The blubbering whale of a man that leaves the hidden room and is escorted down the hallway, leaning on two sponsors, does not resemble the stone-faced wizard he has known all his life._

_Bleeding Hell. Whatever happens in that room, the Dark Lord’s initiation is more debilitating than breaking both arms._

_Lucius starts feeling faint. His vision is blurry, purple spots dancing in front of his eyes; he is not cut out for this. Malfoys do not do well with pain. They usually pay someone to deal with this for them. That’s what money is for. And servants. He needs to leave. Immediately._

_Before…_  
  
_“Next.”_  
  
_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It’s too late. He’s being summoned._  
  
_“Will the next pledge make his way forward?”_

 _“I don’t have all day, McNair, bring your pledge to me now. If we get any further off schedule, you will personally deal with the consequences.”_  
  
_A sinister voice fills Lucius’ ears. He knows that voice, has dreamed of that voice every night since he agreed to this madness. It’s so sharp and murderous that it gives him goose pimples. Stay Focused. Finally, he reaches the end of the corridor. The smoke is so dense now that he cannot see his feet. All he sees is green, swallowing him from every angle. He cannot pass out, cannot let the Dark Lord exploit his weakness. It’s too late to run. He’s lost his chance. Hesitated._  
  
_He takes a deep breath and steps forward, holding his chin as high as possible and pretends that the caustic fumes are not choking him. He is a Malfoy and a pureblood. He can get through this. Whatever pain the Dark Lord has for him, cannot be worse than the irrefutable pain he already feels in his chest, his heart. He has to do this. Fuck McNair. And Lestrange. He’ll show them._  
  
_At the very end of the hallway, a metal door opens and without a second thought, without waiting for instruction from his sponsor, Lucius steps inside._  
  
_“Ahh, Young Master Malfoy,” that same cold voice drawls, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. “I’ve been expecting you. Are you ready to begin?”_  
  
_Lucius nods humbly and bends down on one knee, leaning over to kiss the hem of the Dark Lord’s flowing robes._  
  
_“Indeed, My Lord. I will...” Lucius keeps his eyes glued to the floor, his bottom lip trembles and his voice starts to waver. He cannot let the Dark Lord see his weakness. He clears his throat. “I will always be ready to serve, My Lord.”_

 

 

*******

 

Pain. Blinding pain. Lucius’ skin is on fire; his entire body twitches in spasm, but he cannot move. It’s as if his nerves are shot, removed from his body. All he can do is lie there catatonic, like he’s been hit with the world’s strongest Full Body Bind. His left arm throbs, angry red marks enveloping that hideous Mark. _His Mark._ Blisters scorch his arm, burning under his skin as if there were fiery ants crawling beneath it.

Make it stop. Make it stop. It’s just a _dream_. The Dark Lord is not branding him—that happened nearly twenty years ago. It has to be a dream. He tries to shake his legs. Arms. Nothing happens. He knows they’re there; his appendages pulse and ache like phantom limbs, but he can do nothing. His lungs compress as if a heavy boulder is crushing him. The green fog advances toward him; its tendrils threaten to asphyxiate him, to corrode his lungs.

Relax. Relax. It’s not real. It’ll be over soon. He does his best to remain calm until feeling returns in his limbs. It’s over. He lets out a heavy sigh. Breathe.

Eventually, he opens his eyes and stretches, making sure to rub his aching back. What a horrid dream! He wipes the sweat off his forehead, tucking any stray hairs behind his ear, and then sits up, glaring at his appalling surroundings. Iron gray walls and bars. A miserable rusted cot. Damp. A sink and toilet. More gray. A smuggled-in mirror. A small wooden chest to store his belongings (gray again)—a picture of Narcissa and Draco, a change of tattered gray robes, an old hairbrush (gray bristles) and an extra blanket. No windows. No candles. No contact with the outside world.

Sometimes, the gray feels like it’s suffocating him, like he wants to yank his hair out. Even when he looks in the remains of that broken mirror all he sees is gray. Gray eyes. Gray skin. Gray hair. It’s maddening.

A small skylight provides the only source of light and warmth; it’s linked to a glass screen, a type of magic that Lucius has never seen before that shows him continuous moving images. Mostly it focuses on the graveyard, which lies right outside the prison walls, reminding the prisoners that for most of them the only way out is death. The images flicker back and forth over the various headstones, gray, what else, and covered in poisonous moss and devil’s ivy. Even in death, the cascading vines strangle the remains of the prisoners. There is no peace in Azkaban.

Fields of lush grass surround the graves, neat rows of trees and flowerbeds. But Lucius isn’t daft. He doesn’t spend his days daydreaming about burrowing through the walls and disappearing into the flora. Everything in that garden is poisonous. Deadly Nightshade. Oleanders. Spindle trees. Yellow Jasmine. Fire Lilies. Vomitwort. Calla Lilies.

If somehow a prisoner manages to escape, they will be dead within hours. Not that there is anywhere to go. Azkaban is surrounded by water on all sides, locked away on a secluded island, far away from all forms of civil society. He has no idea how that idiotic Gryffindor, Black, managed to escape. It must have been luck.

Lucius does not spend too long staring at the skylight. He knows that it’s _not_ a kindness that the Ministry offers; instead, it’s another tool for causing madness, like the dementors. He sighs again and turns away from the skylight. He wraps the damp blanket around his shoulders and readies himself for breakfast, a gray bowl of gruel and cold tea.

These are the luxuries of his life now—so far removed from his life at Malfoy Manor, the life he was bred to lead. He doesn’t know how much longer he can take this. His solicitor assured him that he wouldn’t spend more than a weekend in prison. It’s been almost a fortnight. Things are not looking good. Even with all the Malfoy influence and gold, he may never see his family again. For the first time in years, Lucius is terrified.

 

 

*******

 

“Lucius, how good of you to join us.”

Lucius walks into the interrogation room, holding his head high and trying to pretend that he isn’t dressed in a horrid gray jumpsuit. Lucius has always been vain about his appearance and judges men based on the cut and quality of their robes. Today, he must pretend that his long hair is perfectly styled and robes made of the finest of silk. He will not show weakness, cannot let those bumbling idiots know that prison is affecting him.

He bows his head at the two men in front of him. “Headmaster. Minister.” The words almost hurt as they fall from his lips. He despises these two men but must keep his acerbic tongue in check if he is to gain their favor. He’s at their mercy. For _now_.

Thankful that he is spared the indignity of being handcuffed, he sits himself in a chair across from Dumbledore. The old man has the audacity to smile at Lucius, and he can no longer contain his displeasure; he bites down on his tongue and sneers.

“Thank you for meeting with us, Lucius.”

Lucius snorts and rests his hands on the long wooden table in front of him. “As if I had a choice.”.

“Of course you did, my boy. You always have a choice. Isn’t that right, Cornelius?”

Lucius narrows his eyes at Dumbledore but doesn’t comment. He is not and never will be Dumbledore’s boy, but now is not the time to argue with the old geezer. Holding his tongue is turning out to be much harder than he thought. Dumbledore is trying to provoke him. Instead, he turns his gaze to the Minister, who has remained silent until now. Fudge is a idiot, an even bigger one than Dumbledore. He’s curious to see what the two-faced bastard has to say for himself.

“Indeed.”

Naturally, Fudge averts his eyes from his as if he’s afraid of him, which he should be. The good Minister used to be quite chummy with him. Right before this whole disaster happened, Lucius dined with Fudge and offered him a handsome donation to be used at Fudge’s personal discretion in exchange for a personal favor involving the Potter boy. Lucius assumes that gormless prat knows that donation is off the table now.

“Now, Lucius,” Fudge continues, still avoiding eye contact, “the Minister is a busy man as you must know. I don’t have all day. It would be in your best interest if you would cooperate with Headmaster Dumbledore here. He also took time off to meet with you.”

Lucius narrows his eyes again and gives the Minister a look so venomous that the pompous, little man recoils, pushing his chair as far away from Lucius as possible.

“A Malfoy aims to please,” Lucius says in his sweetest voice possible, which comes off more like a veiled threat. “How can I be of service to you?” He directs this question at Dumbledore because he’s afraid if he keeps looking at Fudge he’ll curse that fat head right off his body. Thank Merlin they checked his cane and spare wand when he was escorted into Azkaban.

Dumbledore notices the tension in the room and smiles at him again; those ridiculously blue eyes twinkling. Lucius hates the old man’s eyes. He hates all blue eyes, but especially Dumbledore’s, which are almost unnaturally blue. No one’s eyes need to be that blue. Lucius does not trust anyone with blue eyes; mesmerizing blue eyes can only lead to trouble. He knows this first hand.

“It’s no problem for me to be here, Lucius. I have all the time in the world.” His expression darkens as he glares at Fudge. “It’s you that I’m concerned for.”

Lucius coughs into his hand and stifles back a chuckle. As much as he hates Dumbledore, it wouldn’t do his case any good to mock him. It can’t hurt to listen to what he has to say. Perhaps he has some news on Draco and Narcissa, but the idea that Dumbledore has any sort of concern for him is laughable, a blatant lie.

“How so?” Lucius asks, struggling to keep his voice neutral.

“We all make mistakes, Lucius, and oftentimes have to pay for them...dearly. That time has _come_. You made a huge mistake siding with Voldemort again.” Dumbledore stops for a moment and catches his breath; his cheeks redden and his forehead perspires. Salazar, the geezer really is _ancient_ , getting winded from only a light chat. “It saddens me greatly and I would have thought you learned your lesson after the last time.”

“This all very,” Lucius pauses, struggling to find the right word, “ _heart-warming_ , but can you get to the point, old man? I’m certain you didn’t come here to lecture me on my life choices. Even _you_ must have better things to do.”

Dumbledore shakes his head, his eyes shining with disappointment, and Fudge stares at Lucius dumbfounded. He knows that he is out of line, but can’t bring himself to care.

“You’ve misjudged me, Lucius. I’m not your enemy.” Dumbledore sighs. “I don’t know what I can say to show you that I genuinely care for you and your family’s well being except give you my word.” He wipes the sweat from his bushy brows and smacks his lips. “I know that you do not like me, Lucius, but I am not asking for your affection. All I need is your help. And trust.”

Lucius scoffs this time, pressing his lips into a tight line and biting down, hard. Through gritted teeth, he asks, “Why would I help _you_?”

“Because he asked you to you little shit,” Fudge growls, finally joining the conversation.

Lucius cranes his neck and glares at Fudge, who has now turned purple in the face. Before he is able to retaliate, Dumbledore interrupts.

“No need to be rude, Cornelius—”

Lucius closes his eyes and swallows. Malfoys do not lose their composure, regardless of the circumstances. Dumbledore is still speaking and Lucius has to force himself to focus on him rather than on mentally dismembering Fudge.

“As I was saying,” Dumbledore continues, “if you help us, Lucius, we would be able to grant you and your family full protection from Voldemort and any type of retaliation he or his supporters might wage.”

Lucius raises an eyebrow. He did not expect this. “And for myself?” He keeps his voice as bored as possible. He cannot let them know that he is interested in their bargain. “Do I receive immunity as well?”

“In a way.” Dumbledore hesitates. “You must understand that you have committed very serious crimes. There’s evidence to lock you away until you’re as old and gray as I am. Surely, you must know that we cannot let you off without some sort of punishment.”

“Probation and a hefty fine,” Lucius offers. He will not consider their little deal until they give him something in return. Dumbledore is bluffing. He can feel it in his gut. Doesn’t he realize that Lucius is a master negotiator?

“Preposterous!” Fudge slams one of his massive fists on the table.

“Be reasonable,” Dumbledore says in that annoyingly calm voice of his, “you must serve some time, Lucius. It will be a light sentence. No more than two years. And less on good behavior.”

“Is that your best offer?” Lucius' heart hammers against his ribs and his chest tightens. It doesn’t matter though; he must keep his Malfoy mask in place.

“Your only offer, you ingrate bastard,” Fudge shouts, leaning over, much too close to Lucius and spitting in his face.

He rises from the table and attempts to brush the dried spit from the Minister’s mouth off his shoulder. “May I be excused?”

“But we’re not finished,” Dumbledore protests.

“If that is your best offer,” Lucius drawls, raising his chin and using his most haughty voice, “then there is nothing left to discuss. It’s been…a _pleasure_.” He sneers at the two men as he exits the room and waits for the two guards to escort him back to his cell.

 

 

*******

 

The walk back to his cell feels much longer than usual. Lucius never thinks about his age, but right now he feels all of his forty-two years . His knees ache from lack of exercise, poor circulation. He longs for his cane—for once, needing it for support rather than intimidation. The drab corridors emit a putrid smell, and Lucius cannot help but stick up his nose. Even if he is in prison with these other vermin, it does not mean that he is one of them. A Malfoy always holds his head up high.

As he continues walking down the endless walkway, he ignores the muffled insults and hisses thrown his way. Only an extremely powerful wizard would able to curse him through the strong anti-magic wards of Azkaban. A wizard that powerful would not be contained in such a hellhole as this, so he has nothing to worry about. Bracing himself on his stronger leg, his left, Lucius strolls down the corridors as if it were the hallowed halls of Malfoy manor rather than Azkaban prison. Steps away from his own cell, the hisses stop and a name that Lucius hasn’t heard in years invades his ears.

 _James Potter._  
  
The warden ushers him inside his cell, and he has no choice but to oblige. He asks the warden to leave the silencing spells off his cell for the day, causing the warden to give him a puzzled look. Prison is not a pleasant place for any witch or wizard, but Lucius has certain privileges that the other prisoners do not. The wardens know that a Malfoy _always_ keeps his word, and his benefactors will be rewarded handsomely for their cooperation. After all, he will not be in this prison forever. _He hopes._

As soon as the warden leaves, Lucius sprints to the far wall of his cell and leans his head against it. The walls are paper-thin in this dreadful prison, and he wants to catch the end of the conversation he was eavesdropping on before.

“Didn’t you know?” a gruff voice croaks on the other side of the wall. “Malfoy is in here because of Harry Potter himself?”

“Harry Potter? The boy who?” a higher pitched voice asks.

“Yes, of course, the boy who lived. Do you know any other Harry Potters?”

“I reckon there must be one somewhere.”

“Oh, shut up, you twat. Do you want to hear my story or not?” There is an empty pause. “Harry Potter challenged You-Know-Who and a gang of Death Eaters, led by Lucius Malfoy himself, to a duel at the Hall of Mysteries. And Potter won. Almost cursed Malfoy’s leg off. Didn’t you see his limp?”

“You’re taking the piss.”

“’m not. The Dark Lord escaped, but Lucius and an entire horde of Death Eaters were caught. I’m telling you that Potter boy is not mad. He’s got moxie that one. Just like his father...just like James Potter.”

Lucius closes his eyes and bangs his head against the wall. He has heard enough. The prisoners don’t have access to _the_ _Prophet_ , but with the right connections prisoners are able to obtain other gossip rags. Lucius does not bother with such trivialities, knowing that those vile rags are not worth the parchment they are printed on. He has always prided himself on his name and reputation. Clearly, both are now tainted. He can only imagine what the other papers are printing—that particular story isn’t even that outlandish.

He runs his fingers through his hair, pulling at the knotted strands and yanking them out. Pulling at his hair is a terrible nervous habit, but he hasn’t been able to shake it since childhood. It’s just rubbish _._ Utter rubbish that shouldn’t bother him this much.

He takes a deep breath and attempts to compose himself. If he’s honest with himself, he knows it isn’t the gossip and lies that have worked him into such a frenzy. It’s James. Even after all these years, hearing James’ name is like taking a massive jab right in the gut.

 

 

*******

 

"Can I touch it? Can I, Dad?"

"Don't touch _anything_ , James. You know you're awfully clumsy and if you broke that jewel, we'd have to sell one of our cars to pay for that!"

"Please?"

Lucius Malfoy, despite being just eleven-years-old, raised an eyebrow like a grown man and turned to the ruckus behind him.

There stood a boy of no more than five years, tugging at his father's robes. He had dark, shaggy hair, blue eyes, and wore wide-rimmed glasses that made his eyes look enormous. Lucius had to stop himself from smiling at the little tyke. Tears formed in the boy's eyes as his father continued to deny him access to the precious jewel sitting on top of the counter.

Lucius had come to Diagon Alley for his Hogwarts shopping. His father was in queue to retrieve gold from the family vault. He begged his father to let him stay in the main lobby and explore. He hated going down into the vault. That rickety trolley ride made him squeamish. Being deathly afraid of heights did not work in his favor either. His father, not wanting to argue, left him alone with instructions for him to stay put.

He never was one for obeying his father, though. Sure, he followed most of the rules and spoke to him in a proper manner, but when left alone, he enjoyed getting up to his own mischief. That was one aspect of going away to Hogwarts that excited him. He would be away from his family. It was his first chance to make a name for himself, _Lucius_. Of course, the Malfoy name would be useful in making friends and paying off professors for high marks, but for the first time people would see him as separate from his father, his own man.

Striding forward, Lucius held out a gleaming ruby the size of a snitch in his hand to the tearful boy. He kneeled down. "Would you like to hold this instead? I know it isn't as large as that one, but it's still pretty, right?"

The boy named James sniffled and grabbed the gem from his hands. Wide-eyed, he stared at the sparkling sphere in amazement.

James' father lowered his head and smiled at Lucius. "That's quite a gem you have just to keep in your pocket!"

Lucius looked up at James' father. He was far older than his own father, with gray hair already streaking through his dark strands. "It was a gift."

James ran forward and wrapped his arms around Lucius' waist, hugging him tightly. "Can I keep it? Please, please, please?"

Even though this type of behavior would typically cause Lucius to gag, he wasn't bothered by the affectionate gesture. He was drawn to something in this little boy. Lucius could feel power radiating James: strong, magical power. That wasn't even the most intriguing aspect of it. He felt attached to this boy; as though somehow, he knew they would become friends. Lucius wanted to protect James from anything wrong in the world, including what he knew about his own family.

Lucius patted James on the head and smiled. "You can keep it."

James' father's jaw dropped. "See here, you can't just give a boy a ruby like that! Your parents would murder you!"

The smile dropped from his face. "You see, I am Lucius Armand Septimus Rosier Malfoy. I have gems like this in _bags_. If I want to give your son something to play with, something harmless, I can do so without any trouble."

James' father looked as though he was about to explode at the haughty comment that Lucius made, but then, "Loo-shush," James repeated slowly.

He kneeled back down to James and straightened the boy's robes. "Close. Don't make the 'sh' at the end."

"Loo-shussssssss."

Lucius squeezed James' shoulders. "Close enough." He looked back at the boy's father. "He can keep the ruby. Father won't even notice that it's missing."

The man sighed in defeat. "Fine. James, say, 'Thank you, Mister Malfoy.'"

"Thank you, Mister Malfoy."

"Please, call me, Lucius."

"Loo-shussssssss."

"Lucius! Didn't I tell you to stay put?"

Abraxas Malfoy strode toward Lucius, an unpleasant look on his face. He kept his blond hair short and gray eyes narrowed. Lucius always saw his father as the person he didn't want to become. He was always _so_ cranky.

The atmosphere in the lobby shifted quickly. Lucius felt himself tense. James and Lucius both looked up at their fathers as they seemed to speak volumes with just their eyes. Even random strangers seemed to stop what they were doing and stare at the group.

"Charlus."

"Abraxas."

"I see you and…your son have been keeping mine company?"

"Yes, James seems rather taken with Lucius."

"Well, we really need to be off. Lots of shopping for Hogwarts."

"Father, what if-"

"Lucius, you will speak only when spoken to. Good day, Potter."

Without waiting for a response, Abraxas grasped Lucius by the shoulder and tugged him away. Lucius glanced back one last time at James, who was now waving, a big smile on his face.

"Father, why did you want me to get away from James and his dad?"

Abraxas stopped and turned to Lucius, a stern look on his face. "Lucius, you have probably figured out by now that some wizarding families are better than others. You might notice that some wizards are more successful. This is one of those times. The Potter family used to be respectful purebloods, but they've let in too many Muggles and Mudbloods into their hearts. They would have us be _friends_ with those disgusting creatures." He stamped his foot.

"They say we're the same. But we're not. We have magic, Lucius. We're better than the disgusting Mudbloods you see prancing down the streets. The Potters support this nonsense. Malfoys don't associate themselves with the likes of them. Perhaps the son will be different. Maybe he'll have some common sense. But until then...until you see that boy show his blood superiority, you will have _nothing_ to do with the Potter family. That’s an order, Lucius. Do you I make myself clear?

 

 

*******

 

Days crawl by and Lucius is starting to lose hope. Three different meetings with his solicitor have all been the same. Disastrous. Nothing can be done. Bail cannot be set—not until he agrees to meet with Dumbledore and Fudge again or accept the terms of their agreement. But he will not be intimidated by the likes of Dumbledore and Fudge. Lucius Malfoy is the king of coercion and will find another way around this. He has to and quickly because the Ministry is starting to play dirty.

Lucius resides in the lowest security wing of Azkaban. The prisoners in this wing have the luxury of being guarded by humans rather than dementors. A week ago, however, that luxury expired; the human wardens were replaced with dementors. Ravenous dementors that were given orders to hover over Lucius’ cell as often as possible. He doesn’t know how much longer he can stand this.

Most people think that Lucius Malfoy leads a life of luxury and was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. For the most part, this is true; however, Lucius has also experienced his fair share of pain, mostly at the hands of his father. Extreme wealth and power are worthless when it comes to battling dementors. Dementors do not care if you are wealthy or poor, pureblood or Mudblood; they only care for misery.

Misery tastes the same to them and they thrive on it. Like a lion hunting an injured calf, dementors feed on the mentally feeble, and after a week of occluding his mind to negative thoughts, Lucius is mentally exhausted. He’s not sure how much longer he can survive this, but he must preserve his sanity. Madness already runs in the Black family. He will not allow Malfoy blood to succumb to this misfortune as well.

Excruciating cries are heard from a few cells down, and Lucius can’t help but wince. Today, he’s been lucky; the dementors have left him alone all morning. But peace can only last so long. He stares down at his hands; they are shaking so heavily that he cannot even sip his sorry excuse for a lunch. His chest tightens and each breath becomes harder than the last. Cold sweat drips down his forehead in large droplets; he’s afraid that this time he will actually pass out from a dementor attack. He cannot let that happen, cannot allow them full access to his open mind, his soul.

Lucius shuts his eyes and concentrates; he closes his mind off and tries to find his happiest memory. The screaming has stopped, which can only mean that the dementors are coming for _him_. Earlier this week, Lucius cast a weak warming charm that barely warmed his fingertips, but it was enough. He felt the anti-magic wards weakening around him. If he can concentrate enough, find a memory that is happy enough, he knows that he is strong enough to cast a Patronus. Closing his eyes tighter, Lucius digs in the back of his mind for a memory that he hasn’t thought about in years.

 

_James._

 

 

 

*******

 

 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Luc, are you in there?”

Lucius opened his door and scowled at his visitor, pretending to be annoyed.

“What are you doing here?” Lucius asked, keeping his voice smooth as he admired the boy in front of him. James Potter was leaning against his doorway, dressed in his school robes, head boy badge gleaming on his chest and a bottle of firewhisky twirling in his fingers.

James shrugged and pushed his way past Lucius. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Lucius rolled his eyes and moved out of the way. “If you must,” Lucius drawled, waving his hand at James and ushering him in.

James gave him a cheeky grin and walked straight into his living room, observing the dark green décor.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” James said, continuing to twirl the bottle of firewhiskey in his hands. “Where’s your bar? We need a couple of glasses.”

Lucius narrowed his eyes. “What makes you think I have a bar? And what are you doing here exactly? How did you find me?” He had not seen Potter in weeks and their last meeting had ended on less than favorable terms. Of course, he was suspicious of the prat just showing up in his flat, no matter how secretly ecstatic he might be.

“Fuck, Luc,” James replied with a chuckle, “one question at a time. You know my delicate Gryffindor brain can’t process all that at once.”

Lucius scoffed, not amused at James’ self-deprecating humor. He knew that the younger boy was mocking him and that just wouldn’t do. No matter how much he fancied this boy. James leaned over and placed a hand on his shoulder; he was almost eye level with Lucius. Immediately, Lucius pushed him off; he couldn’t let James know how much he affected him, how often he dreamed of the younger boy. After all, he was a Malfoy, and Malfoys should never succumb to Potters. It was absurd.

“I told you not to call me that,” Lucius hissed, his tone harsher than he intended.

“Come on, Malfoy,” James teased, “you know I’m playing. And, of course, you have a bar. You’re a Malfoy. Only the best, right?”

“Naturally.”

Lucius studied James closely, gauging his intentions and trying to ignore how tight his trousers were underneath those school robes. “What are you doing here, Potter? You still haven’t said how you found me...or why the hell you’re disturbing me at this god forsaken hour?”

James shook his head and opened the bottle of firewhiskey, taking a large gulp right from the bottle. “Well, if you’re going to be such a shoddy host, I’m not going to share. More for me.” He took another swig of whisky and sputtered. “Still, not used to that burn, you know?”

Lucius huffed but didn’t dignify James’ absurd comment with a response. The brat was stalling and Lucius was not happy about it.

“You know why I’m here,” James said, after an awkward silence. “You know what I _want_.”

“I know nothing of the sort. Last time I saw you just ran—”

Before Lucius could finish, James threw his arms around his neck, devouring his lips in a hot kiss.

“I want you,” James whispered, his voice breathy and more earnest than Lucius had ever heard it. “Forget about last time. These last couple of weeks I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, about us. I _want_ it. I’m _ready_.” He pouted his lower lip. “I won’t run off again.”

Lucius opened his eyes and blinked rapidly at James. He had caught him off guard. He had not spoken to James in weeks. Their little affair or whatever was over. James was still in school for Merlin’s sake, a mere child, and a Gryffindor at that. It was idiotic to get involved with the boy in the first place. This should never happen.

He let out a loud sigh and ran a hand through his long hair, for the first time realizing that it was sticking up from sleep. “And what makes you think that I’m still interested, Potter? Quite presumptuous of you. I’m not a fan of second chances.”

James chuckled and wet his lips. “Because,” James stepped closer to him, “Malfoys always want what they can’t have. You get off on it.”

Lucius attempted to protest, but James wrapped his hand around Lucius’ cock. Even through his trousers, the friction was so intense that Lucius had to bite down on his tongue to hold back a moan.

“You see?” James smirked, his hand still firmly around Lucius’ cock. “You’re gagging for it.” With his free hand, he guided Lucius’ hand over his own cock, giving it a squeeze. “And I am too. I want you in me, Lucius, to split me apart with your cock…to ride you until I can’t remember my own name anymore. _Please._ ”

Lucius was panting now; his cock throbbed painfully against his pajama bottoms. He had dreamed of this moment ever since that day in the Shrieking Shack. Potter had acted like a little cocktease and ran off after giving him the best blow job of his life. Lucius wanted to kill him.

His heart was hammering against his chest; his entire body felt flushed. What was he going to do? Did he want go through with this? Technically, James was of age, he reasoned, an adult in the wizarding world. Yes, that was more than enough for him. James Potter was not going to leave him blue balled again. There would be no excuses this time around.

“Come on, Potter,” he growled, grabbing James by the arm and shoving him toward the bedroom. “I need to teach you to respect your elders.”

James’ face lit up in a wide smile and Lucius could no longer control himself. He threw the smaller boy on his bed and started shedding his own clothes.

“Strip,” he ordered.

In seconds, they were both undressed and lying on top of his bed, James’ naked body pinned beneath him. He started trailing kisses down James’ neck, underneath his chin. Lucius had kissed many girls before, but there was nothing more arousing than kissing another man’s chin, the dark stubble scratching against his lips.

“I’m only going to ask you one more time.” Lucius stopped kissing James for a moment and locked eyes with him, trying to avoid losing himself in those sky blue eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this? If we start again, I’m not going to stop this time.”

James nodded fervently and gazed at him with awe filled eyes. “ I want it,” he said, “ I trust you. Completely.”

He raised a hand and pushed a strand of hair out of Lucius’ face, caressing his cheek.. Lucius was not used to such intimate gestures. It made him uncomfortable; a strange warm feeling tingled in his chest.

“You won’t hurt me, Luc. I know you won’t.”

Lucius nodded and turned away from James. This really was going to happen. He pretended to rummage in his nightstand for lube. His throat was completely dry, and for once he was speechless. Nobody had ever trusted him before, let alone with something so important. As he fumbled with the lube, he knew that against all odds this Gryffindor boy had crawled his way into his heart

Lucius wasn’t gay. His philosophy was always a hole is a hole, but something about James Potter was different. He excited Lucius in a way that had nothing to do with sex. Tonight, he would be gentle. He wanted James to remember this, to remember how Lucius had taken him first.

He covered his fingers in lubricant and then placed a hand on James’ right arsecheek. “This might be a little cold,” he explained. “And a little uncomfortable at first.” Carefully, he pressed a finger into James’ arse, making sure to talk James through the process. As soon as James was relaxed, he inserted a second finger and then a third, thrusting his fingers in and out of James, stretching him out to make this as enjoyable as possible.

By the time Lucius added a third finger, James was writhing below him, moaning and begging for Lucius to fuck him.

“Please, Lu-cius. I’m ready. Do it! Do it!”

Lucius coated his own cock with more lubricant and rubbed it a few times, giving it a few firm tugs. Even though his prick was rock hard, he wanted to give himself a few seconds to prepare himself. For some inexplicable reason, his body reacted to James Potter’s arse more intensely than it ever had to anyone else. He placed his cock at James’ entrance and closed his eyes. It had been awhile since he last fucked a bloke and wanted to make sure that he would last. He pushed the tip of his cock into James and waited for him to relax.

James let out a loud gasp. “Just breathe,” Lucius told him. “Relax and _breathe_.”

Once James’ face was no longer pained, Lucius pushed into James further, each time waiting for James to relax. When his entire cock was sheathed inside of James, he opened his eyes and gazed at his lover below him. Sweat was dripping from his brows, his hair tangled in waves, shadowing his face. Restraining himself this much had been one of the most difficult things that Lucius had ever done. He never struggled with restrain in the bedroom before. How strange.

“Are you okay?” Lucius asked, trying to keep his own pained expression off his face. If he didn’t move and soon, he thought he would explode.

“Yes! Move.” James jerked his hips, rubbing against him. That was all the incentive Lucius needed to move. He grabbed onto James’ hips and thrusted himself in, first tentatively and then accelerated the pace. James let out a low moan, muttering Lucius’ name over and over again. Lucius could not bring himself to stop; he wanted to slow down and ask James if he was alright, if he was enjoying this? But it was as if some animalistic nature had taken him over. He kept thrusting harder and harder into James, digging his fingers into James’ back, angling his slim hips up in order to hit his prostate over and over again.

James was crying out his name, whispering affections to him. Lucius longed to do the same, but his mouth was still bone dry.

With a raspy cry of “James”, the only word he was able to utter, Lucius came, harder than he ever remembered.

“Are you okay?” Lucius asked, his softening cock still deep in James’ arse. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

James shook his head and smiled. “Not at all,” he insisted. “It was brilliant.” He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on Lucius’ lips. “You’re brilliant.”

“Thanks.” Lucius tried to ignore the throbbing of his heart against his chest.

“I knew I could trust you, Luc. I just knew it.”

 

 

 

*******

 

 

 _“Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum!”_  
  
A fierce silver peacock charges at the dementors. The peacock spreads its elaborate feathers, long and sparkling like diamonds, and blazes around the room, shielding Lucius from attack and pushing back the soul-sucking fiends. The three dementors retreat from his cell, momentarily disconcerted by his Patronus. Their recovery is almost instantaneous, and they continue to glide down the hallway, reeking of death and decay as they search for a new victim.

Lucius collapses on the prison’s sorry-excuse-for-a-bed and crouches over, resting his forehead on his knees. He shuts his eyes and tries to regulate his labored breathing; his heart jabs against his chest.

They’re gone. It worked.

He has never been skilled at conjuring a Patronus. As a boy, the spell seemed silly to him. Why would he ever encounter a dementor? The only place to find them is in Azkaban. An extended stay in prison was never a part of his life-long plan.

Daddy Dearest would be so proud. The old bastard is probably turning over in his grave, sneering at what has become of his only son, the shame that has been brought upon the Malfoy name. Not for the first time, Lucius is thankful his father is dead, thankful that his own son cannot see him right now—that the world cannot see just how low the “high and mighty” Malfoys have fallen.

Once his breathing is controlled, he pushes himself up from his cot and walks toward the small sink, the only source of water in his cell, taking small unsteady steps as if he’s afraid that his knees will give out at any second. His left hand is still trembling as he opens the rusted faucet and traps water in both his hands, slowly splashing it on his face. The water is ice cold and smells putrid like everything else in this hellhole. But right now it doesn’t matter. It feels refreshing and cool, cleansing.

He imagines that he’s far away from this cell, back in his favorite washroom in the Manor, the one that adjoins his study where the house-elves enchant the water to smell like summer rain—clean, crisp, pure. For the first time in days, Lucius does not feel filthy or disgusting. It’s as if the Patronus and water have absolved him from the Darkness and heavy burden on his soul, the irrefutable and intangible grasp of the dementors. His head and chest no longer throb; he can breathe without wheezing.

Holy mother of hell, Patronuses are amazing, especially his, being a peacock and all.

With the least filthy of his rags, he pats away the excess water on his face, and then makes his way back to his cot. He collapses on it again but this time in relief. A flat pillow and shabby blanket are among the only luxuries prisoners are allowed. The ways things are going, even pillows and blankets will be forbidden soon.

Within seconds of hitting his pillow, his eyes flutter shut and his breathing becomes steady. For the first time since his arrival to Azkaban, Lucius sleeps soundly, peacefully.

“Thank you, James,” he mumbles into his pillow.

 

 

 

*******

 

Lucius was drinking himself into a stupor at the Hog's Head. He had just come from a meeting with the Dark Lord. The man had not officially asked the newest batch of recruits to join his ranks, but he made mention of a mark, which would be a way for each of them to decipher who was truly loyal to him. A mark that Lucius knew could only be derived from serious Dark Magic.

He scoffed into his drink. _Truly loyal_. What did that even mean? Half of the men and women in that room had no concept of loyalty, including himself. Lucius was loyal to himself and what would be best for him.

He was sympathetic to the Dark Lord's goals, yes, but did he want to be a part of it? Wouldn't that tarnish his image? His father was delighted that Lucius received an exclusive invitation to meet with Tom Riddle, an old acquaintance of his. His father was convinced that the Dark Lord would be Minister in a matter of years. "Stick with him," he would always growl. "Stick with him and you'll find yourself in a very powerful position. A position _worthy_ of a Malfoy."

Lucius thought he was doing just fine. He was working at an Apothecary as he waited for a Ministry position to open up. At least, that was what his father encouraged him to do. He didn’t need any Dark Lord, not when he had firewhiskey.

As he was preparing to take his leave, a boy stumbled in, a huge grin plastered on his face. Lucius sneered. It was the _Potter boy_.

His hair was riddled with gel to make it even messier than it naturally was. He was taller than Lucius expected him to be, nearly as tall as he was. And his eyes, no longer framed by hideous glasses, were astounding—the lightest blue eyes that Lucius had ever seen, nearly as blue as the sky.

Lucius had heard a lot about James Potter. Despite being a completely self-absorbed idiot, he was one of the best students at Hogwarts. This was evident in Severus' constant bemoaning before their Junior Death Eater meetings.

He was curious. Would Potter be interested in joining the Dark Lord? Potter's parents had been supportive of pureblood rights but were not active on either side. From what Severus had said, he spoke often against the Slytherin house. Still, that didn't matter much when it came to Tom Riddle. With the Dark Lord, there was no good or evil; there was simply power and those too weak to seize it. Someone as self-involved as Potter could appreciate that, couldn't he?

"Buy you a drink, Potter?" Lucius drawled.

Potter raised an eyebrow. "Me?"

"Are there any other Potters in the room I should know about?"

The younger man narrowed his eyes. "Aren't you Lucius Malfoy?"

"I am."

"What interest do you possibly have in me? We have nothing to say to each other."

"Quite the contrary," Lucius responded. "Tell me, have you ever had a twenty Galleon glass of firewhiskey?"

"I can't say that I have."

Lucius motioned to the bartender, who disappeared to the back. "Once you have something this high a quality, it's hard to go back."

"I think I can do just as well for myself, thanks," Potter answered and took a seat next to Lucius.

He scrunched his nose at Potter's choice of dress. He knew that Hogsmeade trips allowed for a more relaxed choice of clothing, but did he honestly have to wear a pair of ripped denims and a white tee shirt with his school robe open for all to see? It was so _Muggle_.

"Do I smell or something?" Potter asked.

"You're Head Boy, yes?"

Potter nodded. "I'm no swot, though."

"No, but you surround yourself with them, don't you? They give you the answers to your homework? Run your errands? "

He winked. Lucius found himself fighting a genuine smile. "So pray, tell me, Potter. Why is it that you look like you just stepped out of the Muggle Underground in London?"

"You're a Malfoy through and through, aren't you?" Potter chuckled. Lucius noted that it was in far less aggressive mood as he was when he first stepped in.

"Why yes, James Potter, I certainly am."

The bartender brought them their drinks. Lucius held his drink up as a toast and swallowed it in one go. Potter must have done the same, because shortly after, he began sputtering and coughing.

"I thought the legendary James Potter would certainly have a better constitution against strong liquor."

Potter coughed a bit more and then calmed down. "Fuck.”

Lucius traced his finger along the rim of his glass. This was certainly a less eventful conversation than he'd hoped.

"I have a question," Potter said after a moment of silence.

Lucius was beginning to regret asking Potter to join him. The boy was, in fact, an idiot and would be completely useless to the Dark Lord. He was too arrogant to see what was good for him and too loud to follow anyone. "What's your question?"

"How is it that your hair is absolutely perfect?" Potter asked, a curious expression on his face. "Honestly, out of all the times I've seen you, not a single strand has gone out of place."

"Does it irritate you?" Lucius responded, his voice dripping in sarcasm. "Seeing as yours looks closer to a rat's nest than a hairstyle."

Potter bit his lip and grinned. "A bit."

Was the boy flirting with him? Lucius looked him up and down in surprise. As long as he was discreet, Lucius had no qualms about fucking an attractive bloke. "You're playing a dangerous game, Potter," he murmured, leaning in closer.

The foolish boy failed to pull away. "I'm a Gryffindor. We're very brave."

Lucius gave Potter his harshest sneer. "Meet me out behind the Shrieking Shack in ten minutes. If you're feeling brave _enough_.”

He pulled away and stood up. Lucius was calling the boy's bluff. There was no way Potter would meet him in a secluded spot. Alone.

With one last glance at Potter, who looked stunned, he turned and walked out of the bar.

 _There_. That should show him.

 

 

*******

 

"Pull down those awful trousers and get on your knees," Lucius panted as he slammed Potter against the wall.

Potter obliged with the first order, but then latched his mouth on Lucius' neck.

He pushed Potter away and looked the boy up and down. Somehow, his awful hair ended up looking _better_ than it had when they started. His lips were swollen, red, and had several bite marks. Potter's eyes were dilated; he was looking at Lucius with a look of unabashed hunger.

How had this even happened? Lucius had come by the Shrieking Shack, merely curious to see if Potter would show. The boy very much had, sneaking up on him from behind and roughly pulled Lucius into a searing kiss.

Lucius opened his dark blue robes and took out his achingly hard prick. This wouldn't last long.

He pushed Potter onto the ground and guided his cock along the other man's face. Potter turned and in a sudden motion, took in Lucius' full length. He was so surprised by this act, Lucius nearly toppled over, grasping the wall to stay standing.

It was obvious Potter had never sucked a cock before -- or if he had, neither boy knew what they were doing. Lucius would typically be irritated by such a maudlin performance, but with Potter, it was different. His deep blue eyes were staring straight at Lucius as he bobbed up and down, desperate to please.

Lucius couldn't help but rock his hips forward several times, needing to feel more friction against his prick. At first, Potter gagged and pulled away, but after several seconds, he went right back to Lucius' cock. He wrapped his fingers around Lucius' hipbone and pulled him forward with a tentative tug. Lucius greedily pressed further inside Potter's mouth.

This was bloody fantastic. Who knew Potters would be such quick learners?

Soon, Potter had Lucius using both hands to support himself. He moved quickly, and as he bobbed up and down, Potter slid a finger along Lucius' opening.

That was enough to undo him right there. Lucius came with a shout, and slammed his cock forward as he emptied himself deep into Potter's throat. Potter's throat constricted even further, giving Lucius one of the best orgasms he had ever experienced.

"Fuck," Lucius murmured, still panting. "You want me to pull you off?"

Potter swallowed and looked up at him. A look of horror washed over his face. He pulled up his trousers, and took off in the other direction without another word.

Lucius shrugged. He wasn't opposed to being used as an experiment. Not if he was able to come like _that_.

 

 

*******

 

Several weeks after his second encounter with Potter at his flat, Lucius was surprised to receive an owl from the bloke.

 

 

>   
>  _Malfoy,_  
>  _I'm planning on taking a trip to London during the hols. Even though you wouldn't want to visit the Underground, perhaps you might be interested in meeting up with me at the Leaky Cauldron?_  
>  _-J_

 

Lucius had to admit, he couldn't keep the blasted boy out of his thoughts. The way he moaned as Lucius entered him, the long and elegant shape of his cock, the way his skin flushed when he came. He couldn't help but entertain the thought of having another tryst with Potter.

He picked up his quill and began writing.

 

 

>   
>  _Potter,_  
>  _Be in room four on the 22nd of December at the Leaky Cauldron. Come alone, if that wasn't already clear._  
>  _-L_

 

He was impressed with Potter's nerve. Perhaps he wasn't such a fool after all. Or maybe Lucius was the fool for thinking about Potter in this manner.

 

 

*******

 

Lucius and Potter lay panting on the bed, watching the snow fall outside in Diagon Alley. They had fucked a total of three times already, and Lucius still couldn't keep his eyes off the lithe body of James Potter.

"Why did you ask me for a drink that day in the Hog's Head?" Potter asked.

Lucius rolled onto his stomach and looked up at Potter. "I was curious."

"About what?"

Lucius laced his fingers through Potter's. "Every Malfoy is attracted to power, Potter. We can't help it."

"I thought you were going to poison me."

"Don't worry; I considered it."

Potter chuckled. "You want me because I'm a powerful wizard?"

Lucius growled and climbed on top of Potter, straddling him. "I want you because your mouth is perfect for fucking with my cock,"

He leaned forward and nipped at Potter's already bruised neck. Potter shuddered and let out a long breath.

"I'm surprised you wanted to fuck me," Potter said, pulling Lucius out of the lust-filled moment. "Aren't I a disgusting Gryffindor?"

Lucius sat up again, looking more irritated. "Your blood is _pure_. Really, that's all that matters, isn't it?"

Potter bit his lip. Clearly, the boy disagreed with the sentiment. "Are you gay?"

"Are labels really necessary?"

"If you're fucking another man, then yes, they definitely are."

The boy wasn't going to let up on this, was he? "I like to fuck men," he admitted.

Potter nodded but didn't say anything. He gazed up into Lucius' eyes with a quizzical expression.

"What was that all about, Potter?" Lucius rubbed his prick against the other man's stomach. This was getting far too intimate for him.

"James."

Lucius felt his stomach lurch. "What?"

"Call me, James."

"Very well, _James_. How about I make you scream my name?"

James raised an eyebrow. "It'll be tougher than you think."

"I accept that challenge."

 

 

*******

 

Several months had passed and Lucius was still fucking James Potter. He hated to admit it, but his life was better, easier to endure when he was with the little Gryffin-twat. No one else knew about their affair.

Maybe that was why things felt so right: they simply weren't. All his life, he had listened to his father, his grandfather, the older Slytherins, and now, the Dark Lord. Here, he had someone who listened to him but also challenged him in all the ways that mattered.

After a late-night rendezvous in the Forbidden Forest, James flat-out asked him if he was a Death Eater. Lucius showed him the unmarred skin on his left forearm. "Does _this_ make you feel better?" he growled in his most intimidating voice.

Then James did something surprising. Lucius had expected him to continue on his Dumbledore-loving rant, but instead, he cupped Lucius' face gently with his hands and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips.

"You're better than that," James told him when he pulled away.

"Than what?"

"Than worshipping a power-hungry, bigoted freak like Voldemort."

Lucius shuddered at hearing the Dark Lord's name said aloud. "What makes me better than him...or you...or Dumbledore?"

"You have a brain, Lucius. Use it some time."

Lucius thought back to that conversation many times afterward. He agreed; he didn't think it was worth his time to spend his adult life worshipping a man who vaguely resembled a snake. However, being the right hand man behind the most powerful wizard was what Malfoys did best. They always had and always would, according to his father.

What if he found something else to do instead of kissing the hem of the Dark Lord's robes? James was right; he had far better things to do. Instead of torturing Muggles, he could forge contacts at the Ministry. He would bribe them, as Malfoys always had, and use his influence to re-write any laws which did not benefit him already. _That_ sounded a lot more enjoyable.

He found himself at the Hog’s Head with Severus. All of the seventh years snuck off to Hogsmeade to kip off, and the bartenders held no qualms about who paid them their tips.

"Potter is such a _prat_. He thinks that since he's at the top of his year – which he hasn't even earned – he can sneak off grounds."

Lucius was pulled roughly from his thoughts. "And you, Severus, what are you doing at this very moment?"

Severus scowled and pushed some of his hair out of his face. "I'm here on _business_ , Lucius. Whatever Potter is up to is less than golden. If only I could catch him at whatever he’s doing."

He chuckled at the younger boy. He had taken Severus under his wing early on in his Hogwarts years, sensing that the boy needed a friend. He wondered what Severus would say if he knew Lucius was bending James over and fucking him until he could no longer speak. Chances are, it wouldn't be pleasant.

"He's so daft. And he has that _stupid_ hair. The kind of face that I want to hex right off," Severus continued. "He doesn't even do his homework half the time, but the professors are too enamored with him to notice. I swear, anyone who looks at him for too long becomes putty in his hands."

" _Enough_ ," Lucius commanded in a harsh tone, surprising both Severus and himself.

Severus glowered at him in a challenging manner. "Don't tell me you think he'd do well in _our_ crowd?"

He scoffed and downed the remaining firewhiskey in his glass. "For someone who hates him so much, you certainly can't talk of anything else but him."

He knew these words would cut deep, but Lucius didn't care. His blood was boiling and for several different reasons. Lucius normally had a firm grip on his emotions but not tonight. He was angered at Severus' words. James wasn't _that_ bad. Sure, he was an arrogant prat, but that was part of his charm. It was refreshing not to be treated as a perfect Malfoy.

Plus, why _did_ Severus talk about James so much? He felt a green twinge of envy building in his gut.

"Fuck off, Lucius. You know bloody well why I talk about Potter so much."

Though Severus hated to talk about it, Lucius knew that he was tormented by Potter and his gang of followers. Lucius didn't care so much about that. Severus, as Slytherin as he was, often wore his heart on his sleeve. It was easy to prey on someone like that, goad them into doing exactly what you wanted. It's why Severus was a good match for the Dark Lord.

Lucius sighed. His anger was dying down. "It's been a rough week." That was the best apology anyone would ever get.

Severus turned to Lucius. "No, you're right. I probably talk too much of Potter. I shouldn't even give that bastard the time of day."

He threw some Galleons on the table and motioned for Severus to follow. "I should be going," Lucius said. "I need to visit Father at St. Mungo's tomorrow morning."

"He's still ill?" Severus asked, a look of concern washing over his face.

Lucius nodded. They hadn't told anyone about how sick his father was. As much as Lucius loved his father, it would be a sigh of relief when he passed. He was diagnosed with a dragon pox, a disease that predominantly purebloods contracted. This made his father proud and caused him to launch into a tirade at how few wizards these days could actually carry the disease.

He thought back to when his father requested that he have a pureblood Healer. The employees scrambled about, changing their timesheets so the great Abraxas Malfoy could have his way. They knew how much money he donated to St. Mungo's and it would do no good to displease him.

Lucius understood. He wouldn't want someone who grew up Muggle Healing him. Mudbloods didn't understand how wizards worked. They were untrustworthy as well as disgusting.

What would James do if he told him that?

And why did he suddenly care what James thought?

"Luc?"

"Don't call me by that foolish nickname."

"I was just curious as to why you were following me to Hogwarts." Severus shrugged.

Lucius froze. James was in Hogwarts. Perhaps he could convince him to come out and play for a bit. He often visited Hogwarts. A school governor position was opening up and he came by to appease both the Ministry and Hogwarts, to show that he was a caring man who would look out for the best interests of the school.

 

 

*******

 

After Lucius had met with the old coot, Dumbledore, Lucius went down the stairs. James was usually in the kitchens at this point, nicking some pies for his idiot mates.

Sure enough, he heard a rustling through the still life portrait of the fruit. _Decidedly James_. He reached and tickled the pear, which immediately opened to the entrance to the kitchens.

"Good evening, sir. Have you come for something to eat?" a house-elf asked.

"Nothing you can bring me," Lucius murmured, his eyes darting over to James, who was sampling a pastry.

Some of the pastry fell out of James' mouth as he glanced upward and saw Lucius standing there. He quickly swallowed his food and said, "I didn't expect to see you here, Luc. I didn't realize you knew about this place."

"I'm a Malfoy. I know about all places.”

He hoped the lust pooling in his stomach was evident in his facial expression, as he was having a rather difficult time resisting the urge to bugger the boy on the kitchen table. Hopefully, James would take the hint and follow him to a deserted corridor.

He seemed to. He thanked the house-elves for their time and led Lucius out of the room.

Lucius reached for James' robes and pulled him close. James yelped and lost his balance, sending the two of them to the ground.

With James on top of him, the two of them began laughing. Lucius threaded his fingers through James' long locks of dark hair, enjoying the laughing sensation, as well as the wonderful sound James was making and the feel of his body on top of his own.

He couldn't help but think that this lifestyle seemed far more enjoyable than the one his father had picked out for him. The lifestyle he had thought he wanted – until this boy came along. The lifestyle that he was suddenly very willing to throw away.

What did it matter if Voldemort didn't have him at his right side? He'd find someone else and Lucius could go somewhere, anywhere, and figure out what he wanted to do. He always did enjoy peacocks. Perhaps there was a farm he could go somewhere.

The thought of him on a farm caused him to snort, which brought him back to the current situation. James curled his legs around Lucius' and nuzzled his nose into his neck. His hot breath on Lucius' skin gave him goose pimples and sent a shot of arousal straight to his groin.

All of a sudden, he didn't particularly care about his future and instead decided to focus on what was happening. Later, he would inform James of his brilliant idea.

 

 

 

*******

 

Loneliness. Pain. Coldness. Hunger.

They are the only constants in Lucius’ life now. Every part of his body, up to the tips of his ears, are freezing. _Numb. Wet._ Even the extra blanket he managed to hide is no longer effective. Each day brings a new level of hell.

Time.

Lucius is not the philosophical sort. He has never questioned his existence, humanity’s morality, his destiny—not since he pledged his allegiance to the Dark Lord all those years ago. He leaves the brooding and fantasizing to Severus and lately to Draco. He is more of a take-action or throw-money at the problem-sort-of bloke and prefers not to spend too long in the vast depths of his brain. Until now.

He knew that prison would not be glamorous—that it would be cold and filthy, dark and damp. What he didn’t count on, though, was how lonely it would make him, how the solitude would weigh on him, slowly eating away at his sanity.

In some ways, he thought that a few days in prison would be a much needed mental holiday from the ever growing demands of the Dark Lord, from the increasing strain and emptiness in his marriage. But he could not have been more wrong. Azkaban is just another means of trying to control him. And Lucius hates to be controlled.

Fudge has not visited again, but his presence and threats loom in the musty air of his cell. The dementor rounds are increasing. _Again_. There are only a few hours in each day that his sanity is spared—that he doesn’t need to be on guard.

Slowly, his sanity is slipping away, his grip on reality waning. He’s certain of it, but there’s nothing he can do to reverse it. Time stands still in these gray-stone walls. Minutes blend into hours. Hours blend into days. He has no idea how long he’s been here. Before the dementors, time was crawling by; the days felt eternal, and Lucius was able to keep track of each passing second. Marks were made on the wall to remind him of how long he’d been there. Different marks representing each hour and day.

Those marks are useless now. He lost track after seventeen, and today he can’t even tell if it’s night or day. Dumbledore and his damn Order are winning; the dementors are burrowing deeper and deeper into his soul, breaking down the barriers of his mind. Of reality. His magic is waning and even a simple Warming Charm is no longer an option.

At first a Patronus worked, threatening and repelling the dementors, his trusty peacock. But a Patronus is complicated magic, especially when cast without a wand. It also requires happy memories.

 _Happy memories._  
  
Lucius scoffs at the thought. A Malfoy worries about power, wealth, even beauty. Not happiness. He only has so many happy memories. It seems that if a memory is reused too often to conjure a Patronus, the spell loses strength. Over time, the dementors become immune to it, and Lucius has no option but to try another memory. Eventually, he runs out.

Now, all he can do is attempt to occlude his mind, try to survive the attack. A biting coldness sweeps across Lucius’ shoulders. His entire body has been freezing for days, but instead of the constant prickling that lightly burns his skin, the unnatural green air in the room sucks all the oxygen out of his lungs. The coldness spreads to deep within his skin, to his bones, joints.

He holds his breath, knowing what is coming. dementors. An _attack_.

“Close your mind. Close your mind,” he mutters to himself. He brings his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them like a small child, rocking back and forth, hiding behind his long and unkempt hair.

“Think about Draco. Narcissa. Think about _James_.” His voice is his hoarse but weak, foreign to his own ears. “They love you,” he whispers, trying to convince himself. His fingernails are digging into his knees now; a large tear is evident in his thin, gray trousers, right at the knee where he clings for dear life during every attack.

“They love you,” he says again, voice softer than before. “ _James_.”

A single tear falls down Lucius’ cheek. He is not the type to cry; his father raised him better than that; he’s stronger than that. But everything is so hard. He’s so _dreadfully_ weak. Five dementors are in the room; he feels their presence all around, suffocating him, even with his eyes closed. They bang on the walls of his mind, trying to obliterate his shields. Oh-so hungry to rape his mind. They feed on the remnants of his soul, devouring every happy memory, tearing them away from his mind, his heart. He cannot let them do this. Those memories are all he has.

Fight. Fight.

“Your family loves you,” he says again. His voice catches at the back of his throat, his bottom lip quivering. “Your son _needs_ you.”

It isn’t working. The coldness is getting stronger, his teeth chattering, limbs numb. He needs to try something else. Another memory. A happier one.

“James,” he says through chattering teeth. “James _loves_ me.” His head is throbbing now; the entire cell spins as if he drank too much in firewhiskey. “James lo-loves me,” he cries, desperately trying to convince himself.

“James _le-left_ me.”

A crash. And pain. So much pain and coldness. He can’t feel his legs anymore, can barely open his eyes. It’s too late. He failed. The barrier is broken.

Now all he can do is wait. He dreads what comes next.

“ _James….how could you_?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Part II: Sacrifice**

 

  
“I deserve so much more for the sacrifices I have made, but I have learned life is not fair and neither is love.”  
\-- Unknown

 

 

 

*******

 

Nearing the Easter hols, Lucius decided to make his suggestion to James. They had been sneaking around for nearly four months at this point, and it seemed as though James was as interested in Lucius as he was in James.

His father was on his deathbed, hardly able to speak. However, he and his mother had introduced him to a woman named Narcissa Black. She was slightly younger than he was but very beautiful. He was familiar with the Black family, particularly Bellatrix, who had been a regular at the meetings with the Dark Lord.

Lucius was particularly taken with Narcissa's perfect blonde hair. She let it grow out past her waist and not a single hair was out of place. Just the way he liked it. She was polite and wealthy and had been through several etiquette classes and finishing schools. She would be the perfect wife for the perfect Malfoy life.

Months ago, he decided that the perfect Malfoy life wasn't what he wanted. He didn't want to serve the Dark Lord and he didn't want to marry a woman.

_James._

James was the beacon of light in his otherwise dark tunnel. James inspired him to want to be more; James made him want to be a better person. Hell, James helped him see that he _wasn't_ a good person. All he could see was James.

After yet another Death Eater meeting, Lucius noticed that Severus was acting more sullen than usual. "What's wrong with you today?" he asked.

Severus continued to pout. Lucius sighed and glanced upward. "Snape, you can talk to me. You know you can."

"Evans is seeing someone."

Lucius' eyes narrowed. The Mudblood? He knew that Severus had harbored feelings for the little ginger years ago, but he thought those feelings had been suppressed by this point. Then again, who knew what went through his mind? "Well, now you can find someone more _acceptable._ "

"She's seeing, Potter, of all sodding people."

Lucius' mouth dropped open in shock. He quickly closed it and regained his posture. "Potter?" he gulped, his voice raspy.

"Apparently, they've been together nearly the entire year. It's just that now...she's no longer ashamed to admit it."

Lucius barely heard Severus' words. Instead, they were replaced by a buzzing that was slowly surrounding his every thought. James was seeing Evans?

It couldn't be true. Potter was a Gryffindor for fuck's sake. He couldn't two-time like that. He couldn't lie.

Lucius knew James felt like he did. _He knew_. James _loved_ him, just as he loved James.

It was impossible.

"I need to go!" Lucius said, barely able to keep his voice steady.

He heard Severus muttering something about friends as he turned and rushed to Apparate back to the Manor.

He reappeared in his room. In one swift motion, he grabbed his quill, ink, and some spare parchment and began writing.

 

>   
>  _Potter,_  
>  _If you are up for another meeting, be by the lake in an hour._  
>  _-L  
>  _

 

He quickly rolled it, sealed it, and sent it off with his owl.

 

 

*******

Lucius checked his pocket watch and sighed. It was past midnight and Potter wasn't showing. No matter; he would find the lying bastard himself. Nobody made a fool of Lucius Malfoy. They were going to talk tonight, whether or not it killed one (or both) of them.

He snuck into the school. He was surprised at how easy it was to enter. Surely, there were wards and other traps for those with less-than-pleasant purposes, but perhaps the school knew he meant no harm. At least, not yet.

He climbed the steps, two at a time, to reach where he knew the Gryffindor Tower was located. He stood in the shadows until he saw a student walking down the corridor.

" _Imperio_!" he whispered, pointing his wand at the surprised student. "Go find Potter and bring him down here. Tell him that Evans needs to speak with him in a private location."

Several minutes later, James appeared out from the portrait of the Fat Lady. He was wearing his night clothes and looked positively delectable. He wore a sly grin on his face that Lucius knew well, a grin of anticipation.

Lucius waited until James had trekked down the corridor a bit more before shoving him against the wall.

"Luc –" James sputtered, his glasses askew.

"Tell me Severus is wrong," Lucius said calmly, trying to erase all emotion out of his voice.

"What?"

Lucius released his grip from James. "Are you seeing Evans?"

It was dark, but Lucius could see the guilt forming on James' face. Lucius punched the wall in fury and spun away from the other boy.

"I – er –" James didn't seem to come up with much better.

He was livid. What right did a stupid Mudblood have to soil his way out of misery? "How could you – what were you –"

"You made it _very_ clear that we were just fucking," James said quickly, anger evident in his voice.

"Was that all it was to you?" Lucius asked. "A fuck?"

"That's what it was to _you_ , you idiot! What does it matter how _I_ felt? What more, I've been in love with Evans for bloody _years_. She finally asked me out. What was I supposed to say?"

"When did she do that? Last week?"

James narrowed his eyes. "I see Snivellus didn't waste any time spreading the news. Yeah, she asked me in December. At Hogsmeade. The day we met up."

Lucius was humiliated. "So you've been seeing her when you've been –"

"Yeah, I was dating Lily when we were-"

"DON'T SAY THAT MUDBLOOD'S NAME!"

"Merlin, Lucius, what is this all about?" James asked, surprised. "Are you really that upset?"

"You oblivious dolt, I was going to ask you to run away with me!" Lucius yelled back. There was a brief pause of shock from both James and Lucius, but then Lucius started back up. "You managed to convince me that yes, I'm on the wrong side and I need to do something right for a fucking change. I was going to leave Britain and try to start a new life! And I was going to invite you, but clearly, you're too busy fucking the Mudblood that, of course, you wouldn't have thought of me as someone to be with."

James stared at Lucius dumbly. "Luc, I don't know what to say. I thought we were just messing around. That's all I thought it was to you. That's all it was to me."

"You – you asked me if I was gay."

"I did. I never said that I was."

Lucius felt his heart drop out of his chest. He backed away slowly and without saying a word, he turned and approached the steps that would lead him out of Hogwarts.

"Luc – wait!"

Lucius spun around. "Don't talk to me ever again. I don't ever want to see you again. If you break these rules, I swear to Merlin I will kill you without a second thought."

Trying to hide the tears burning at his eyelids, he turned and ran down the steps so he could reach the Apparation point.

 

 

*******

 

The moment Lucius reached his flat, he fell on the floor, pressed his back against his bed, and buried his face in his hands. The tears came fast and hot, his sobs shaking his body so hard, he was convinced he would never be able to breathe normally again.

Lucius had never been so humiliated in his entire life. He felt like an utter fool. He fell for an idiot like James and in turn, turned into one of those blubbering lovestruck schoolgirls. He was furious at James, at his father, Narcissa. Most of all, he was furious at himself.

How could he have allowed things to get this deep? Of course, no one would want to be with him in a strictly romantic sense. He was a Malfoy and they married for money and power, not love.

He took in a shuddering breath, attempting to calm his breathing and stop the sobs. He wiped his eyes and climbed onto his bed, curling up with his favorite pillow, and stared at the ceiling.

The big question he needed to answer was, "What now?"

He already had something in mind.

Was it what _he_ wanted? No, but it would ensure his success in the world. Who was he to try to be something he wasn't, like a peacock breeder? No, he was a Malfoy. They always did best at the side of the next big leader.

He would forget about James. Hell, he would kill him the next chance he got, the little Mudblood lover. He would join Voldemort and the Death Eaters. He would befriend the Minister, join the board of governors at Hogwarts. He would marry Narcissa. They would have a child, hopefully a son. They would impart the same Malfoy legacy onto him and the cycle would continue.

This was not what he wanted, but rather it was what he needed to do to maintain the family name and stature. Running away from his problems was a cowardly thing to do, even if every fiber in his body told him to do so. He had experienced firsthand what would happen if he faltered and let himself care too much. No, he needed to continue to remove his emotions from the situation and keep some semblance of composure.

One day, he would look back on the past few months and roll his eyes at his younger self. Perhaps he had to go through this experience to truly grow up. Sometimes, sacrifices were necessary, even at the expense of his own dignity.

 

 

 

*******

 

 

 

> _Dear L ,_  
>    
>  _I hope that your little holiday is treating you well. All of your friends back home, the ones who enjoy gardening and bird watching, are missing you and hoping for your speedy return. No one is missing you more than your son though. Our mutual friend has become rather fond of the young lad and has welcomed him with open arms. You should be quite proud as said mutual friend has even given your son a high honor in your absence. He’s been granted a special errand, which he volunteered and accepted readily._  
>    
>  _However, I fear that he’s being over ambitious about this errand. You know your son; he is quite blond and not the sharpest wand in the drawer. Come on, you know it’s true, old friend, so don’t make that face you always make. There’s a chance that he will be unsuccessful in his task, and if you don’t return from your holiday before then, there might be consequences. Serious consequences that your boy will whine about for ages and you’ll want to avoid._  
>    
>  _I know that the two of you have your differences, but I’m certain that you would not want him taking on something like this, particularly in your absence. I will attempt to keep you informed of the situation, but I think your son needs a firm hand from his father in order to straighten him out. He cannot run around all summer without any discipline. He was terrorizing the peacocks again last time I visited your garden. They’re starting to look quite sparse and need your attention as well._  
>    
>  _I must get back to work now, but I hope that it will not be too inconvenient for you to cut your trip short._  
>    
>  _I look forward to seeing you soon and hearing all about your travels._  
>    
>  _\--Prince_

 

 

 

*******

 

 _Sacrifice._ The name Malfoy and sacrifice have never been synonymous. Yet, somehow Lucius is considering making the biggest sacrifice of his life—a sacrifice that if events don’t play out exactly as he needs them to, could cause him and his family their lives. The stakes are just too high this time. He’s not used to making these types of life altering decisions.

Sacrifice in Lucius’ eyes is agreeing to spend a holiday in St. Tropez rather than Mustique. Sacrifice is not one of the core family values inherited from his father. Lying convincingly. _Check._ Managing a prolific estate. _Check._ Bribing Ministry Officials. _Definitely._ These are the lessons his father weaved into the deepest fiber of his mind, convinced him they would help him succeed in life—well, that and upholding pureblood supremacy and tradition. Obviously, they go hand in hand.

 _Pureblood supremacy._ That’s another issue to think about. Since childhood, his father taught him about the importance of blood purity. In an ideal world, Mudbloods would be expunged from the wizarding world. Muggles would be used as slaves. Or food. Lucius imagines that his peacocks would greedily devour a nice, hearty Muggle stew. And half-bloods, well, he supposes that they could remain in the wizarding world, as long as they’re forbidden from marrying and mating with purebloods. Perhaps they could wear a bright yellow star on their robes identifying them as half-bloods. That would make things a lot easier. Besides, someone has to hold those low paying Ministry jobs. No self-respecting pureblood would ever accept a Ministry job that didn’t come with a shiny office and benefits.

Enslaving the Muggles is the 17th agenda on the Dark Lord’s nefarious plot to take over the world. And 18th on the agenda states that if agenda seventeen fails or the Muggle resist, they will be eradicated. If Lucius were in charge, he would place enslaving Muggles much higher on the agenda, definitely higher than building a fifty foot statue of the Dark Lord to adorn the Great Hall. But he supposes the Dark Lord knows best. Or at least he used to think so. Now, he isn’t sure what he thinks.

His father always told him that the Dark Lord was the _chosen_ one, the Heir of Slytherin, who would restore honor and order to the wizarding world by purging the Mudbloods and half-breeds from society. He believed the Dark Lord would lead purebloods to victory and reinstate blood purity as an essential wizard value.

Lucius wanted all those things. He _still_ wants all those things. His principles and hatred for Muggle lovers and Mudbloods has not changed. _At all_. But now he has his son to think about. As usual, Severus is right. Draco and him do not have the easiest of relationships. Lately, Draco seems to ignore anything he says, especially his orders on staying away from Harry Potter. Yet, no matter what differences he and his son have, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love his son. He is not a monster. He loves Draco very much. In fact, other than himself, Draco is the only person in the entire world that Lucius is certain he does love. An heir to the Malfoy name is not the only purpose Draco serves in his life. He refuses to think of him that way, the way his father thought of him.

He knows that he doesn’t tell his son that he loves him often. Okay, never, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t know. Right? He knows. He _has_ to know.

 _He’ll know if you do this for him,_ a traitorous voice says in the back of his mind that sounds remarkably like Severus. Shut up. Shut up. Lucius does not have a conscience; he’s prided himself on that very fact for years. Now is not the time to sprout one.

Today was supposed to be a _good_ day. The dementors have been absent all day; he’s finally had a chance to recuperate, to rest his nerves and rebuild the shields in his mind from all the dementor attacks. For days, all he’s done is drift in and out of consciousness, lost in his nightmares. He keeps relieving his most painful memories, that last dreadful meeting with James, his father’s death, Voldemort’s return. He did not need _that_ letter today. Merlin knows how Severus even managed to sneak it in. The new rules state that prisoners are no longer allowed to receive post of any kind. He must have sneaked it in with the old man’s help.

 _Dumbledore._ Could he really become Dumbledore’s man? A spy for the Order? That idea was just preposterous. He’s spent his whole life ridiculing Dumbledore and everything the Muggle Loving Fool stands for. He can’t change that now. But what other options does he have? Go into hiding with Narcissa and Draco? Where would they send them? And could he really trust Dumbledore’s men to protect him and his family if they were out of the country and Dumbledore’s jurisdiction?

Absolutely not. His only option is to negotiate with Dumbledore, to compromise his pureblood ideals. Could he actually do that? Play nice with the Mudbloods and Blood Traitors. He wasn’t sure he could, but he would have to try or at least pretend. Yes, that’s what he would do. Lucius is an exceptional actor; he has been all his life; now he needs to put on the performance of a lifetime.

The Dark Lord—Lucius curses at himself and bites his tongue before admitting this—is _not_ going to win this battle. As much as Lucius wants blood purity to become Ministry policy again, Voldemort is not the wizard to bring about that change. His plans keep falling apart. That blasted Potter boy, James’ son, keeps beating him, foiling all his plans. It might just be dumb luck, but either way, he never seems to run out of it.

Five times. He’s escaped Voldemort’s grasp five times now. And the boy is only getting stronger. Or at least more annoying. He showed adequate dueling skill at the Hall of Mysteries. Even the old man was able to hold Voldemort off, forcing the supposed Darkest Wizard of all time to retreat. Some Dark Lord. He really does appear to be on the losing side, and Lucius will not be able to escape punishment again. Malfoys are winners. They do not side with losers.

Fuck. He really does have no choice. He’s going to have to cooperate with Dumbledore. But what will he say? What angle should he present? His heart is racing again, palms sweating, facing Dumbledore is almost as daunting as taking on a room full of dementors. He closes his eyes and attempts to compose himself, imagining his son’s listless body twisted and broken on the ground. He _can_ do this, needs to do this. It’s what the old fool wanted all along. Well, at least now he won’t have to face Fudge too.

Rumor has it that Fudge has been ousted from office. Lucius could not be more pleased. There is no way in hell that he would ask that bastard for anything. The all forgiving Dumbledore won’t hold this debt over his head. After all, taking in former Death Eaters seems to be his thing; he probably gets off on it.

Ugh. That’s the last thing he want to think about before he meets with the old coot. No, he can’t call Dumbledore an old coot or any offensive nicknames, at least not to his face. He has to play the part of the poor, reformed Death Eater, has to do it for his son. Thank Salazar his father is dead and not around to see this; he would probably have a heart attack and die from distress.

Alright, he needs to do this before he loses his nerve. If only he had some firewhiskey.

He sprints to the bars of his cell and stick his arms as far out as possible, waving them violently. “Hello....hello!” He yells down the empty hallway, trying to make his voice echo. “I know there’s someone there...a guard...a dementor. I don’t care who you are.” He pauses for a moment and bites the corner of his lip. He can do this. Halfway there. “Just get a message to Dumbledore. Tell him that Lucius Malfoy wants to see him. Immediately!”

No one comes. No one hears him. This is ridiculous. There has to be someone around. The Ministry wouldn’t allow dangerous Azkaban criminals to be unsupervised. He just needs to make more noise. He scans his cell for something useful. Unfortunately, his stock is limited, but he does have an empty metal mug that has not be collected from lunch yet. Quickly, he grabs the mug and then starts banging it repeatedly against the bars of his cell. If this doesn’t get attention, he doesn’t know what will. He continues banging unrepentantly until someone finally notices. He ignores the fervent protests and threats from the other inmates.

“What’s all the ruckus down there? Settle down unless you want me to get the cane. All of you.”

A guard strolls down the hallway, a human guard, and Lucius needs to speak with him, desperately.

“Hey you,” he shouts, “come here.”

Taking light and cautious steps, the guard makes his way over to Lucius’ cell. He removes his wand from his harness and points it straight at him. A wand is not as intimidating when there are bars between himself and the attacker, or perhaps it’s just because his attacker is blond and pale with huge terrified eyes. Lucius has seen that look more times than he’d like to admit.

“Lower that wand, boy,” he tells the guard. The boy looks barely old enough to be out of Hogwarts. “Don’t you know who I am?”

“You’re Prisoner 537,” the guard replies. His brow is furrowed and his wand hand tremors. “You can’t talk to me like that.” His voice is becoming increasingly unsteady.

Lucius scoffs. He does not have time for games with this idiotic boy. “Listen to me, Mr—.” He scans the boy’s Ministry issued robe and reads his name tag, another new Ministry policy. “Mr. Robins,” he says, in his firm but polite voice that he uses for business mergers, “I’m Lucius Malfoy, and as you probably know, I’m an extremely wealthy man.”

The boy's eyes widen and his jaw drops, his mouth forming a wide “O”. Lucius can tell he’s impressed; he still hasn’t closed his mouth. “And,” Lucius continues, never breaking eye contact with the boy, “I’m going to be leaving this dreadful place very soon. It was all a misunderstanding, you see. Now, if you’re a good lad and find Dumbledore and tell him that Lucius Malfoy needs to meet with him immediately—”

Lucius pauses and lets his words hang in the air. The boy is still staring at him blankly. God, he hopes that he’s smart enough to understand this. “If you deliver Dumbledore my message, I will make sure that you have more gold in your Gringotts account than the Ministry pays you in an entire year.” Lucius considers smiling at the still petrified boy to put him at ease but decides against it since smiling and making people feel comfortable have never been his strengths. Instead, he says, “Do you understand?”

After several moments, the boy nods and steps away from the bars. Once he’s a few strides away from Lucius’ cell, he responds: “You have yourself a deal, Mr. Malfoy.”

Lucius waits, stone-faced, until the boy disappears down the hall. Then he punches the air in excitement, but instantly regrets it and pretends he’s fixing his hair. Yes! He’s still got it. Azkaban has not robbed him of his famous Malfoy charm. Perhaps things will work out for him after all. One more compromise to a lifetime of business arrangements won’t matter, especially if it gets him out of this bloody place.

 

 

*******

 

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Lucius.” Dumbledore nods his head in greeting and takes the seat opposite of him at the end of the long table. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

He returns Dumbledore’s nod. “Headmaster Dumbledore,” Lucius uses his most polite voice, “all the pleasure is mine.”

“Please, Lucius, call me, Albus.”

“Alright then…Al-bus.”

An uncomfortable sense of déjàvu creeps through his mind. He’s sitting in the same room, in the same chair across from Dumbledore as he did only a few short weeks ago. The only difference is the color of the old man’s robes, silver, and the absence of Cornelius Fudge.

It’s been three days since he asked that Robins boy to summon Dumbledore. He was beginning to think that Dumbledore had withdrawn his offer. What a fool he was, assuming that he would be taken to the Headmaster in a timely manner. Clearly, Dumbledore wanted him to suffer a little longer. Well played old man. Well played.

A tense silence hangs in the air between them. Usually, Lucius jumps in and takes control of these types of situations, but it’s in his best interest to hold his tongue and see what Dumbledore has to offer. Instead, he just sits, staring at the old codger and drumming his fingers on the edge of the tabletop.

Eventually, Dumbledore breaks the silence. “What can I do for you, Lucius?”

He locks eyes with him, studying those fierce blue eyes and trying to gauge his intentions. He stops tapping his hands on the table and unconsciously rubs the white mark on his right ring finger where his family signet ring usually resides. He’s so close to getting everything back. That ring can be back on his hand by the end of the weekend. Do not bollix this up.

“Why don’t you tell me, _Albus_?”

Dumbledore breaks his gaze with Lucius and adjusts his spectacles. “Lucius,” he says slowly, “I’m not here to play games with you. I assumed that you were serious about accepting my offer. We already had this discussion last time.” He pushes back his chair and starts rising from the table. “Perhaps I should come back another time once you’ve had more time to think.”

No. No. No. Dumbledore cannot leave. How could he manage to screw this up in mere minutes? He _cannot_ go back to his cell.

“Albus… _stay_.” He surprises himself at how needy his voice sounds. “No games. I’m serious.” He drops the scowl from his face and shows Dumbledore a little bit of teeth, his version of a smile. “You have my word.”

“Alright.” Albus sits back down and reaches inside his front robe pocket for a small circular container. He twists it open and pops a canary yellow candy into his mouth. Then he slides the small tin toward Lucius and smiles. “Lemon drop?”

Lucius stares down at the small tin as if he were being offered a taste of juniper berries rather than a harmless sweet. This must be a test. Dumbledore still doesn’t trust him.

“Yes, thank you.” He drops a lemon drop onto his tongue—tart and acidic at first and then strangely sweet. Not bad. Not bad at all. Then again, after eating prison food for weeks even sour candies taste heavenly to him. “They’re exquisite.”

“Aren’t they?” Dumbledore’s eyes light up in that oh-so annoying twinkling fashion of his. “Have another.”

“No...thank you.” He gawks at Dumbledore as if his beard has just turned blue. By far, this is the strangest business meeting he has ever attended.

He clears his throat but cannot find his voice. For once, he’s having trouble asking for what he wants.

“You are not a bad person,” Dumbledore tells him. “Regardless of what you or the rest of the world seems to think. You love your son and your family.”

Of course he does! But what does loving his family have to do with him being a good person? Lucius is not a good person _. Good._ That word leaves a foul taste in his mouth. It’s probably best not to share that with Dumbledore. Instead, he nods in reply.

“I can help you,” Dumbledore continues, “I can protect you and your son, Narcissa.”

“And Severus.”

“What?” Dumbledore blinks at him.

“Severus,” he repeats, “I want immunity for myself and protection for him as well.”

Dumbledore laughs; he tilts his head toward his right shoulder and strokes his beard. “Oh, Lucius,” he says, his eyes still crinkled with amusement, “you and me both want protection for Severus. Yet, I’ve never met a wizard more stubborn...or who takes more unnecessary risks.”

Lucius snorts and shakes his head. “Tell me about it.”

This was odd, really fucking odd. He has something in common with Albus Dumbledore and they are having an almost _pleasant_ conversation. Perhaps this merger might be possible after all.

“I don’t want to hide,” he says, after the laughter passes.

“What?”

“ _Hide_. I don’t want to take Narcissa and Draco out of the country. I won’t flee my own country, my own home.”

Dumbledore stares at him intently. He strokes his beard again and pops another lemon drop into his mouth. The old man’s eyes never leave his though; it’s as if his harsh gaze is piercing through him.

“I understand.” Dumbledore’s voice is firm but not unkind. “You do know what that means though? It only leaves you one other option. You’ll have to—”

“Turn in my oldest friends. Become a spy for you. A _blood_ _traitor_ ….I understand, old man. I’m not daft.”

Lucius gulps. He did not mean to speak so harshly to Dumbledore, but he cannot stand when people patronize him.

“I know that.” Dumbledore pauses for a moment and cracks his knuckles. “It was not my intention to offend you, Lucius,” he explains. “You must understand how dangerous your job would be. It might cost you your life. Is that a price you’re prepared to pay?”

He takes a deep breath before responding. Lucius is not a martyr or a brash Gryffindor, but he cannot back down from this fight. “Albus, I cannot let my son suffer for my indiscretions. This is not his battle.”

Dumbledore nods his head somberly; it’s as if all the energy has been sucked out of the room. “Very well,” he says. “I can be back on Monday with the necessary paperwork to secure your release.” He gets up from his chair and reaches across the table, holding out his hand for Lucius to grasp. “Do we have a deal?”

This is _it._ If Lucius agrees to this now, he cannot go back on his word. He’ll be thrown back into Azkaban or worse, hunted by both sides. But if he doesn’t agree…no, it’s too late to change his mind. Years ago, he made a deal with the devil. How much worse could this deal be?

“Alright.” He reaches out and meets Dumbledore’s hand, shaking it firmly. “You have my word, old man. Just get me out of here quickly. The food is dreadful.”

Dumbledore shakes his head and laughs again. Apparently, the good guys do that a lot. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Lucius releases Dumbledore’s hand and lets out a sigh of relief.

He wonders briefly what James would think of him for making this compromise with Dumbledore. Would he be impressed? Perhaps too little too late? Closing his eyes, he imagines James waiting for him outside these walls with Draco, cheering that they can finally be together. .

Lucius shrugs these thoughts off. James is in the past where he belongs. Nothing more, nothing less.

He is finally getting out of here. His nightmare is over.

 

 

**~Fin**

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